


My Prize

by orphan_account



Category: Madballs in Babo: Invasion
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grok leads the Scorched Militia back to Velouria in hopes of harvesting the last of the Terracite.  His greed leads to a near-fatal injury, and Daemonak is forced to seek help for him from the other Damos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A monstrous roar made all five Scorched Militia members cringe and glance at their leader's closed door.  Grok had been shut up alone in his "command center" (really just his bedroom in the abandoned building they had commandeered) ever since the Militia had returned to Babolon earlier that afternoon.  Grok's subordinates had been waiting on him to emerge and give them their new orders-- but he was showing no signs of wanting to see anyone, judging from the screaming and ranting that had been coming from his room all evening.

"Uh. . . I think I'm gonna go to bed now," Horn Head muttered nervously.  He gave Grok's door one last look from his single eye before he started edging toward the room he'd been assigned when he joined the Militia.

"Yes, Horn Head better run," boomed Magmor.  "Horn Head's fault we lost Terracora!  Grok smash Horn Head to little bits."

"It ain't _my_ fault!" the alien Madball snapped.  "You guys were drivin' me nuts!"  His words were punctuated by another screech from Grok's room.

"He's going to smash _all_ of us to little bits from the sound of it," hissed Aescu.  "I'm going to bed too.  He might be calmer in the morning."

"Magmor doubt it," the Moltok grumbled, but he rolled toward his own room all the same.  Even Pett, who was usually fairly oblivious to the others' conversations, seemed to agree, and he followed the retreating Militia members.

Daemonak, however, only turned back to Grok's door and regarded it silently.  Aescu had begun rolling away, but when she noticed that he wasn't following, she stopped and studied him.  After a moment, she moved back to where he sat, her full lips pursed over her fangs.

"Are you going to sit here all night?" she snapped.

The Damo cut his eyes at her scornfully.  "Since when are my actions of any concern to you?"

"Hmn."  The corner of Aescu's mouth lifted in a smirk.  "If I have to get up in the middle of the night to heal you because you tangled with Grok. . . ."

Daemonak only scoffed and looked back at the door, despite the sounds of ranting still coming from within.  "I do not intend to 'tangle' with him, woman.  I am awaiting my orders."

"Ehehe," Aescu laughed.  It was a half-mechanical sound, a little eerie even to someone like Daemonak.  "You really are staying then?  I thought you would be the first to leave the Militia now that the Terracora's gone."

"Leave?"  Daemonak turned his yellow glare back on her and gave a menacing little hop with the aid of his wings. "Are you implying that I lack the honor to be loyal to the Militia?"

Aescu rolled her organic eye.  "Aren't we touchy today.  I didn't mean _anything_ about honor, only that I expected the rest of you-- Magmor, Horn Head, and Pett too-- to go back to your own worlds since we lost the Terracora."

"And leave _you_ here alone with him, I suppose," growled Daemonak.

Aescu blinked her organic eye.  "With whom-- Grok?  I suppose, if he doesn't disband the Militia altogether.  But then, I'm still a Babo, even with my. . . additions.  Babolon is my home."  She fell silent and only looked at him then, piercingly.  Daemonak glared back into both her yellow organic eye and her red mechanical one, although she made him strangely uncomfortable.  The feeling only grew worse when she laughed again and went on abruptly.

"You don't have to be jealous of _me_."

"Ha.  Jealous of a puny Babo mortal?" Daemonak struck back.  "If you think I am envious of your paltry healing powers--"

"Heh, no.  I think you're envious because I _am_ a Babo, and a woman."  She drew back her lips to grin at him, then she suddenly rolled forward and bumped up against him to whisper, "None of that matters to _him_.  I won't get in your way-- in fact, I'll enjoy watching you try to get past that barbed wire."

Daemonak launched himself into the air with a flap of his wings, deciding it was the quickest way to put distance between them.  It also gave him a height advantage as he snarled down at her, "Be gone!  Insidious fool!"

"Mn."  Aescu chuckled softly to herself, not offended in the least, as she rolled away.  Daemonak didn't land again until he saw her disappear down the short hall that led to her own room.  He turned back to face Grok's door, trying not to dwell anything Aescu had said.  The thought of leaving the Militia truly had never crossed his mind; however, he had also never considered his reason for staying.

_Of course, it is a matter of honor,_ Daemonak thought, reluctantly returning to their conversation after all.   _And a matter of not having anywhere else to go-- they would drive me away from Velouria if I tried to return now.  Grok has nothing to do with it._

Nevertheless, it pleased Daemonak to realize that Aescu's observation was likely correct: _None of that matters to **him**._  Grok had never paid any more attention to the voluptuous cyborg than he had to the rest of them.  What's more, Daemonak found himself believing Aescu when she said that she had no interest in Grok either.

Clenching his wings tightly above his body, Daemonak gave a little growl of frustration.   _We Damo are above such matters!  That canny female only wants to stir up trouble by implying that I have-- **feelings,** like some frivolous Babo teenager!_

At that moment, a particularly bitter scream issued from behind Grok's door.  To Daemonak, now well used to his leader's various moods and less articulate ways of expressing himself, the scream sounded full of both pain and recrimination.  The pain was nothing new; in fact, Daemonak suspected that Grok enjoyed it.  Now, though, Daemonak was left curious as to just whom Grok was blaming for their failure.

The Damo rolled forward, coming to rest on the sensor that opened Grok's door.  To his surprise, the door was unlocked, and it slid open.  When he peered into the room, Daemonak saw the Scorched leader rolling back and forth furiously, growling to himself.  Some blood had dripped from the raw places on Grok's skin, splattering the stone floor.  Grok was too engrossed in his own misery to notice Daemonak, who rolled into the room and let the door close behind him.

"Rarrrrgh!" Grok bellowed abruptly, rolling forward and ramming himself against the wall.  There had already been a little blood sprayed there, but when he drew back, he left a large, crimson spot that dripped slowly towards the ground.

"Grok."  When Grok didn't respond to the sound of his name, instead turning to begin rolling in the other direction, Daemonak roared loudly.  His deep voice echoed in the nearly empty room.  " _Grok!_ "

Grok stopped short and spun to face him.  There was as little recognition in his functional yellow eye as in the blind white orb in his left socket.  Blood was splattered across his sharp white teeth, and several new wounds had formed due to the barbed wire that had dug its way into his skin.

Daemonak gave no sign of noticing, not even a wince, but he spoke firmly.  "That is enough."

Grok stared at him blankly, teeth parted in a half-snarl, then cognizance spread over his scarred face.

"Daemonak," he murmured hoarsely.  Although the Damo had felt very little emotion at the sight of Grok's self-inflicted wounds, something warmed inside him at the way his leader said his name.

"We are awaiting your orders," Daemonak rumbled.

Grok burst into unstable laughter.  "What for?  I thought you'd all be gone by now."  It was the same idea Aescu had had.

"We will not desert the Militia," replied Daemonak, giving him the answer he had given the cyborg.

"Why not?" Grok cackled, then his deep voice rose to a roar again.  "The Militia is finished.   _We lost the Terracora!_ "  That tone of voice had often been enough to send Pett scampering for cover and had even been known to make Magmor tremble.  Daemonak didn't even twitch a wing.

"We lost it, but so did the Mercs and the B*D*I," the Damo said flatly.  "We can still attack them both."

"What's it to you, any of you?" Grok retorted, though Daemonak was gratified to hear that his voice had calmed somewhat.  "Magmor's avenged himself on the Mercs, and there's nothing here for Horn Head now that the Terracora's gone."  His single good eye focused sharply on Daemonak.  "And no one will disturb your people anymore.  I thought you would be the _first_ to go."

"I will not leave you," Daemonak repeated.

Grok gave him an almost hunted look then turned away, resuming his rolling back and forth.  "I don't deserve your loyalty.  I failed all of you!"  Daemonak blinked in surprise: was Grok's recrimination directed at himself?

"How did _you_ fail us?" he asked cautiously.  "Horn Head was the one who sent the Terracora away."

"I'm your leader!" Grok yelled, rounding on Daemonak suddenly.  " _I'm_ responsible!"  Daemonak was amazed at the declaration; as well as he knew Grok, he had never expected him to be _that_ kind of leader.  But then, it explained the torture the Babo was putting himself through.  Reminded again of the bloodied condition of Grok's body, Daemonak latched on to a way to distract his leader from the Terracora.

"Your wounds must be treated," Daemonak declared.

"I can handle it," Grok growled, turning his back on the Damo.

Daemonak persisted stubbornly, "It is not a matter of handling the pain.  They will get infected, and you will make yourself sick.  I will get Aescu--"

" _No!_ " Grok bellowed as he spun back to him.  "I won't see her!"

The Damo sighed impatiently even as he felt secretly gratified.  "Then you must let _me_ tend them."  He expected Grok to argue, but the Babo did not respond at all.  Taking his stillness for assent, Daemonak rolled over to Grok and began unwrapping the barbed wire that adorned his body.  Grok moved then, growling and trying to back away.

"Leave it!"

"No!" Daemonak snarled back, every bit as loudly; he judged, probably correctly, that any reasoning would be lost on Grok at the moment.  This time Grok remained still as Daemonak finished removing the bloodied wire and laid it aside.

Grok was always a bit bruised and scraped from wearing the wire; he seemed to enjoy the stimulation the pain caused him.  His wounds now were deeper than usual, though, aggravated by his ramming against the wall.  The worst was a small gash above his blind left eye; blood swelled from it and ran down his scarred face into his mouth.

"Hold still," Daemonak growled.  He lifted himself into the air and flapped across the room to pick up a towel from the pile of discarded fabrics on which he assumed Grok slept.  Daemonak hovered over Grok and pressed the folded towel to the gash, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.  Grok gave no reaction, though it must have hurt.

As he held the towel in place with the telekinetic powers the Damos and Babos both possessed-- fairly necessary for holding and firing weapons-- Daemonak looked over the rest of Grok's body.  None of his other wounds were bleeding more than a faint ooze, but they still needed cleaning.  And if Grok refused Aescu's help, that left only the ancient Damo method.

Daemonak leaned forward, flapping his wings, and flicked out his forked tongue, licking the wound that was almost perpetually open near the top of Grok's head.  Grok gave a soft hiss, likely out of surprise rather than pain. . . but he didn't protest.  Daemonak drew his tongue over the spot a few more times, then pulled back and lowered himself to the ground behind his leader.

The taste of Grok's blood was sharply metallic but not unpleasant.  In fact, it excited Daemonak a bit-- not the idea of vampirism, but the idea that Grok was allowing him to do something so intimate.   _He refused healing from Aescu, but he will allow me to do this._  Of course, healing from Aescu meant rolling around in a puddle of her vomit, which could very well be the reason Grok preferred the other method, but Daemonak chose not to dwell on that.

Grok's left side was his most scarred, marked in spots with shiny pink flesh incongruous against the blue-grey outer layer of his skin.  It was also the most cut-up now, and Daemonak concentrated his efforts there.  He moved slowly from cut to cut, licking each clean and earning an occasional gasp or strained moan from Grok.  Daemonak's theory that his leader enjoyed pain was proven by Grok's soft noises; the moans came when Daemonak licked the deepest cuts, and they were moans of pleasure.

_He is absolutely mad,_ Daemonak decided, not for the first time. . . but then, he himself must not have been entirely sane: he was growing more and more aroused by his task.  The heat of Grok's body was intoxicating, as were the quiver of his flesh against Daemonak's tongue and the moans that escaped from his lips.  Daemonak was downright disappointed when he finished tending to the injuries on Grok's back and sides.

He launched into the air again to carefully pull back the folded towel covering the gash on Grok's head.  Daemonak was pleased with himself when he saw that the blood had coagulated over the wound.  He tossed the towel aside then hesitated.  He didn't want to disturb the area and possibly start the bleeding again-- but he didn't want to finish his work either.  Finally, he compromised by leaning in and carefully licking the smeared blood from around the wound, careful not to irritate the torn flesh.

Still, he had to stop sometime.  Daemonak landed again and rumbled, "I am finished."  He stayed behind Grok deliberately, hoping to calm himself before his leader looked at him: Daemonak wasn't visibly aroused, but he was damned close to it.

"You missed one," Grok growled.  To Daemonak's consternation, Grok turned to face him, his expression stern.  The Scorched leader looked up with his good eye, indicating the spot above it.  It was another permanent open sore, one which Daemonak had passed over due to its proximity to Grok's face.

"Mn."  Daemonak dutifully flapped his wings a bit to level his mouth with Grok's forehead.  As he began to lick at the spot, Grok groaned softly, tensing under Daemonak's tongue.  The Damo glanced down to see his leader's eyes closed in pleasure; the sight gave him a strange rush deep inside.  Daemonak licked faster, flicking the forked tip of his tongue against Grok's skin.

"Mmmmmn. . . ."  It took Daemonak a moment to recognize the sound as coming from himself.  Grok gave a hiss in response, opening his yellow eye.  Daemonak found his eyes locked with Grok's, caught in the act of staring at his leader.

"More!" Grok demanded, his tone harsh though his mouth broke into a wide grin.  Daemonak forced himself to close his eyes to escape Grok's gaze, though he could still see it in his mind: mad, certainly, but also possessive, lustful.

As Daemonak licked and teased Grok's flesh with his tongue, the Babo groaned again.  The sound made Daemonak ache; it took all of his self-control to keep his stiffening cock retracted inside the virtually invisible slit that covered it.  He didn't know just how Grok would react to his subordinate's arousal,  but Daemonak suspected that he would be summarily rejected for anything beyond "treating" Grok's wounds.  And rejection would. . . hurt.

Daemonak pulled back at that thought, landing with a thump in front of Grok.  The idea that he had a weakness-- what's more, an _emotional_ weakness-- caught him by surprise.  Grok's eye fell on him a little dizzily then focused once more.

"Daemonak," he breathed heavily.  If the sound of his own name had warmed the Damo before, it nearly drove him crazy now.  "How do I taste?"

Daemonak considered his response a moment before deciding to answer literally.  "Like iron. . . like the ore in the depths of Valouria."

"Mn."  Apparently the answer pleased Grok.  He grinned toothily then abruptly rolled close to Daemonak so that the Damo could feel the Babo's breath on his cheek with his next words.  "I want to taste it too."  He flicked out his own tongue and licked the corner of Daemonak's mouth wetly.

Another moan escaped Daemonak at the feeling of his leader pressed against him, licking him.  Before he could think better of it, Daemonak turned to catch Grok's mouth with his own.  Grok drove his tongue deep into Daemonak's mouth, curling it over his teeth to taste his own blood there.  Daemonak's wings fluttered with excitement as he parted his jaws, allowing Grok to possess his mouth.

The Babo pulled back after a moment of frenetically tonguing Daemonak's teeth.  The Scorched leader was panting a little, his blue cheeks flushed to a deep violet and the tiny pupil of his good eye abnormally dilated.  Daemonak looked at him desperately, almost equally as mad with desire.  No other thoughts were left in his mind at that moment: not the Terracora nor Aescu nor what would happen to the Militia.  If he could claim Grok for his own, nothing else mattered.

"Does it please you?" Daemonak rumbled in a low growl, harsh with lust.

Grok grinned broadly.  "Oh _yes_."  He crushed his lips to Daemonak's again then mumbled against his mouth, "I knew you would."

"Grok!" Daemonak groaned with delight: he wasn't being rejected, not at all.  He folded his wings down over them both, holding Grok to him with his wingtips as they kissed again.  Daemonak knew instinctively how Grok wanted it; he bit and sucked at the Babo's lips and tongue until he could taste fresh blood in his mouth.  Grok moaned and writhed in Daemonak's grip, kissing back eagerly.  Daemonak felt the Babo's goatee, deceptively soft, brushing his skin-- then he felt the insistent hardness pressing against him from beneath it.

Daemonak broke the kiss to look down, inadvertently breaking into a grin when he saw his leader's erection protruding from the slit in his underside.  He started to lean down towards it-- and instead found himself thrown on his back as Grok pounced on him.  The Babo cast him one gleeful, crazed look with his good eye then began licking Daemonak's own slit, coaxing him to get fully hard.  Daemonak groaned helplessly, unable to control his body any longer as his erection swelled and emerged only to be engulfed by Grok's hot mouth.

Daemonak was stunned at Grok playing such a subservient role, until he realized that Grok was the one in control, on top and holding Daemonak down as he sucked at him.  The Damo thrust up into his mouth involuntarily, gasping with pleasure and trying to formulate a complete thought.  He wanted to taste Grok again, more of him-- wanted to suck him the way Grok was sucking him.  He wrapped his wings more tightly about his leader then suddenly pushed Grok over, rolling on top of him.  Grok gave a muffled squawk of surprise which faded into a groan as Daemonak turned on him to flick his forked tongue across the head of the Babo's cock.

The Damo had never done such a thing before, but he wanted it with a desperation that surprised him.  His leader's erection was pulsing visibly beneath skin flushed a deep violet, and precum leaked from its tip as fast as Daemonak could lick it away.  Grok's taste was intoxicating to him, and Daemonak caught the head in his mouth, desperate for more.

Grok groaned hoarsely as Daemonak sucked on him.  The Babo struggled beneath Daemonak, apparently trying to flip Daemonak over again rather than escape; however, the added strength of Daemonak's wings gave him an edge.  He was able to stay on top, thrusting eagerly into Grok's mouth as he took more of his leader's erection into his own mouth.

Although Grok continued to make a token struggle, his moans increased in pitch and frequency.  Daemonak began to experiment with his mouth, judging what pleased his leader the most.  The harder he sucked, the more Grok seemed to enjoy it; when Daemonak accidentally scraped the Babo's flesh with a tooth, Grok gave a sharp groan of ecstasy.

_So he likes pain even there,_ Daemonak thought, his mouth curling into a smile around Grok.  He nipped at his leader harder then tugged on him slightly.  He was rewarded with a long moan from the Babo; the resulting vibration of Grok's mouth massaged Daemonak's throbbing flesh.

"Mmmn!" Daemonak purred around Grok as he sank his teeth in deeper.  He felt Grok's erection begin to throb in his mouth, and the Babo's round body tensed underneath the Damo.  When Daemonak bit down harder and tugged sharply, Grok shrieked in response and practically exploded in the Damo's mouth, howling with pleasure as he shot into Daemonak repeatedly.  Daemonak swallowed rapidly around him as he felt his own climax building; he finally came after he felt Grok finish and relax beneath him.  After Daemonak had finished coming in his leader's mouth, he rolled off of Grok weakly, collapsing in a heap with his wings still twitching faintly.

He had never felt so drained before-- or so wonderful.  He gave a soft groan of contentment as his softening cock retracted, then he tried to pull himself together, tucking his wings close to his body before finally risking a glance at Grok.  The Babo was still lying on his back, eyes closed as he panted softly.  His mouth was spread open in a blissful smile, which only served to make him look more insane than ever.

When Grok finally began to stir, Daemonak looked away, a bit embarrassed.  He hadn't meant for it to happen-- and in fact, upon reflection, everything that had led up to this moment seemed a bit hazy.  Still, Grok was no longer brooding over the lost Terracora, at least for the moment, so Daemonak convinced himself that his mission had been a success.

Grok rolled slowly over to his pile of bedding and nestled in the middle, burrowing down a little to push up the discarded cloth into mounds around him.  He didn't speak, and Daemonak assumed that meant he was being dismissed.  He must have had an emotional weakness indeed, for even that hurt.  He had turned to roll back to the door when a growl from Grok stopped him.

"C'mere."

Daemonak half-turned to look back, but Grok wasn't looking at him; in fact, all Daemonak could see over the bedding was the scarred blue dome of Grok's skull.  The Damo rolled over to the bed, curious in spite of himself.  Grok glanced at him out of the corner of his good eye, then pushed up against one side of the nest he had created, making enough room for another body beside him.

Daemonak felt himself blush for the first time he could remember.  He had a suspicion that he wasn't making the wisest choice-- in fact, he could almost hear Aescu's grating voice taunting him for going soft-- but he rolled into the bedding anyway and sat awkwardly pressed against Grok's side.  The Babo's rough, scarred flesh felt surprisingly warm against Daemonak's own skin, and the Damo closed his eyes in contentment.

\--

Daemonak slept deeply, warmer and more comfortable than usual-- as the Scorched leader, Grok had taken the most fabric for his bedding, after all.  When the Damo awoke early in the morning, Grok was curled under his wing, his face pressed against Daemonak's side.  A quick look at Grok's wounds assured Daemonak that they were mostly scabbed over, easing his mind.

After a moment's consideration, Daemonak folded his other wing over Grok as well until he held his leader to him, wrapped in both wings.  It wasn't something he would have even considered doing had Grok been awake, but the feeling of holding the Babo against him the previous night still haunted Daemonak: he needed to feel it again.  Grok was warm in Daemonak's wings, and his body, damaged though it was, felt firm against Daemonak's.  Grok stirred slightly against him, but Daemonak still held him, hoping he was only moving in his sleep.

"Daemo."  Grok's deep voice, mumbling drowsily against Daemonak's side, ruled out that possibility.  Daemonak's wings twitched, but before he could decide to pull them away, he felt a gentle telekinetic tug from Grok holding him in place.  Grok shifted, turning until his mouth was pressed to Daemonak's cheek.

"I should thank you," the Babo muttered, his lips brushing Daemonak's skin.

"For what?"

The reply was reluctant.  "For. . . taking care of me."

Daemonak considered how to respond to that; he finally answered, "I was well rewarded."

"Heheh."  Grok chuckled, apparently pleased.  He said nothing else, but in a moment, Daemonak felt Grok's mouth on his, the Babo's tongue insistently pushing between his lips.  Daemonak submitted, parting them to return the kiss.  He loved every sensation that accompanied it: Grok's tongue struggling against his own, the Babo's moans echoing inside Daemonak's mouth.

Grok finally pulled away, wriggling out of Daemonak's grasp though he did grin broadly at the Damo.  Daemonak watched as Grok rolled out of bed and over to the pile of barbed wire he had shed the night before.  Grok began to wrap it back around himself, half-turning to talk to Daemonak at the same time.

"Go round up the others.  I want to talk to all of you at once."

Daemonak hopped out of the nest using his wings.  He tried to mask his curiosity when he asked, "About. . . ?"   _Is he going to disband the Militia-- send us all away?_ he wondered.

Grok chuckled again and beamed at him maniacally.  "To give you your new orders, of course!  We may have lost the Terracora, but that won't keep us from decimating the B*D*I!"

Daemonak nodded his assent to hide his relief.  "Yes.  We will wait for you outside."

To his dismay, Aescu was _already_ waiting right outside Grok's door; Daemonak was greeted with her insolent smile as soon as he left their leader's room. _How long has she been here?_ he wondered, giving her a yellow glare.   _Maybe she does not know I was in there the whole night. . . ._

"Go fetch Pett and Horn Head," he growled at her, deciding not to even acknowledge where he had been, "while I get Magmor.  Grok wishes to give us new orders."

"Oh!"  Aescu, to Daemonak's gratification, looked truly surprised.  "Well.  That's encouraging."  The surprise faded all too soon as she rolled past him, pausing to purr smugly, "And it seems that the barbed wire came off easier than I thought."  



	2. Chapter 2

It had been a particularly bad day for Daemonak.  From arguing with Aescu to finding that Pett had chewed up his favorite blanket, nothing had gone right for the Damo warrior.  He had finally called it a wash and left the Scorched Militia's headquarters to sit outside in the snow, alone.

Winter had hit with full force in the past couple days, but Daemonak liked the winter, for it made Babolon feel more like its moon Velouria, Daemonak's home world.  The cold was comforting, reminding Daemonak of how it had felt to be frozen all those hundreds of years ago: enclosed in peace and safety.  He had been one of several Damos chosen to be cryogenically preserved in a ritual ceremony.  Daemonak had not completely expected to be awakened again, but he had accepted and even welcomed the possibility of eternal sleep in the ice.

Now, he wondered, _Would I go back if I could?  Was this worth waking up for?_   His fate was separation from his people and his world (admittedly, by his own choices); a lifetime fighting petty battles for the Scorched Militia; and the very real possibility that he would never be on the winning side again.  Daemonak would never leave the Militia, and he knew that regret over his choices was wasteful.  Still, sometimes he tortured himself by looking up at Velouria and wondering what might have been had that meddling Jenkins never thawed him out.

Daemonak heard the crunch of snow behind him, the sound of someone rolling nearby.  The sound was too soft to be Magmor and too loud to be Pett.  _Probably Aescu,_ Daemonak decided in resignation, _coming to bother me again._

The movement stopped, hesitating, then drew up beside Daemonak, about a foot away.  Daemonak cut his eyes to the right to see Grok sitting there.  Daemonak drew in a breath of the icy air and looked away again.

"I was thinking," Grok said after a moment, as if they had been carrying on a conversation all along.  "We need a better base of operations.  A run-down building is no place for the head of the Scorched Militia."

In Daemonak's estimation, it was exactly the fitting place.  After all, the Militia's resources were all but tapped out.  Their last hope had been the recovery of the _Barbed Skull V_ ; its loss meant that all they had left was a complex of abandoned buildings on Babolon.  Grok and his five strongest soldiers made their home in the largest, and the smattering of remaining troops inhabited the rest.

Still, Daemonak knew his leader wasn't looking for a logical response, so he only nodded.  "Pett has reported that the underground excavation is proceeding well.  Perhaps when it is complete, we could relocate everything below."

"Those bunkers are to be for emergency evacuation, not living quarters!" Grok snarled.  Obviously, Daemonak hadn't given him the response he wanted.  Daemonak twitched his wings impatiently, although he was used to Grok's irrational bursts of anger. 

"I know you ordered them constructed in case the B*D*I should attack our base," the Damo replied, keeping his deep voice level.  "However, it would be more logical to inhabit them instead of _this_ easy target," he went on, indicating the complex behind them with one wing.  "We would be unassailable below ground."

Grok harrumphed but then, to Daemonak's amazement, muttered, "I suppose you're right.  I'll talk to Pett about what changes we'll need to make it a permanent living space."

"Mn."  Daemonak turned his eyes back up to Velouria to hide his surprise.  It wasn't like Grok to take others' suggestions so well, especially when it meant altering his own plans.  But then, Grok _had_ been changing lately, slowly but perceptibly.  He was less volatile, quieter, and given to fewer outbursts.

 _Perhaps it is due to the disappearance of the Terracite_ , Daemonak reasoned.  _It all vanished with the Terracora-- and since it caused his madness, perhaps its absence will heal him._   The Damo wasn't sure how he felt about that, though: the insane Grok was the one he knew, the one who had drawn him to the Militia in the first place.  A healthy Grok was inconceivable.

 _But I will be loyal to him no matter what,_ vowed the Damo.  _Even if he changes, he is still my leader._   He glanced at Grok, who was now looking at the sky as well.  Daemonak could see the Babo's breath hanging in the air, and a layer of frost was forming on his barbed wire.

"Are you cold?" Daemonak asked, wondering how the snow and icy air would feel on Grok's open wounds.

"Are you?" Grok shot back, apparently taking Daemonak's concern for a challenge.

"No," Daemonak replied matter-of-factly.  "It is far warmer than Velouria.  We Damo are used to the cold."

"I suppose you are."  Grok gave a resigned sigh then abruptly growled, "Why don't you go back there?  I see you out here every night, looking up.  If you miss it so much, you should just go home!"  Daemonak was startled that Grok would express any interest in his feelings, but he was even more surprised to hear Grok say he had been watching Daemonak.

"I told you I would not abandon the Militia," Daemonak said with caution, wondering just where Grok was leading.

"What if I _ordered_ you to go?"

It was far from anything Daemonak had expected to hear, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a twinge of fear deep inside.  _Would he really. . . ?_

He forced himself to answer flatly, not looking at Grok, "I betrayed my brethren to follow you.  They would rightfully turn me away."

"So you're here only because you have nowhere else to go," Grok finished with a bitterly triumphant tone.

Daemonak was silent for a while before replying.  "No.  I have nowhere else to go because I chose to come here instead.  If you order me away, I would perhaps return to Velouria. . . but only to live alone in exile."

"Why did you choose this?" asked Grok, his deep voice low.  "Why did you decide to serve under a-- what would your people call me?  A 'Groundie'?"

"That is correct."  Daemonak was faintly amused at the way Grok spoke the disdainful term.  "I chose to follow you and. . . and to obey you because I believed in you."

" _Why_?" Grok persisted.

Daemonak hadn't really thought about it himself, and he answered slowly.  "Because. . . the B*D*I wronged you, as they wronged me by awakening me and the rest of my people.  The Damo cared nothing for the Terracora, only for preserving our ancient way of life.  However, living that life would not avenge me against the B*D*I.  I believed that you were the only one who could help me do that."

"And I guess I failed you."  Grok's voice was still quiet, giving no hint as to his motivation or emotions-- if he possessed any.

"No, you did not," Daemonak told him.  "Without the Terracora, the B*D*I can no longer hurt the Damos, at least not the way they did before.  Perhaps losing the Terracora was not the outcome you had in mind, but. . . I am satisfied."

Grok said nothing else, though Daemonak waited for him to reply.  Finally the Damo glanced at him again; Grok was only gazing down into the snow, even his good eye blank.

Daemonak could no longer resist asking the question that troubled him.  "Are. . . you going to order me back to Velouria?  To send me away?"

Grok turned and looked at Daemonak with amazing clarity in his yellow eye, proof that his madness really was lessening.  "No.  I only thought that maybe you wanted to go," the Babo muttered.  Daemonak had to look away, turning back up to the sky, to hide the relief he could feel on his face.

 "I _am_ cold," Grok admitted after they had been quiet a few moments.  "We Babo lack your tolerance for low temperatures."

Daemonak turned to him and saw that Grok was visibly shivering.  Of course the obvious solution was for them to go back inside, but Daemonak didn't want to be around the others-- especially Aescu, who would surely have some snide opinion about Grok and Daemonak spending time alone together.  Daemonak watched his own breath fogging in the air before him as he hesitated, then he rolled over to Grok, extending his wings.

Grok looked at him in surprise, both eyes-- even his blind one-- wide.  "I'll hurt you," he said flatly.  Daemonak assumed the Babo was referring to the barbed wire he wore, although with Grok, one could never be quite sure of his meaning.  Daemonak only waited, wings still held out to his leader.

At first, Grok looked away, but then he rolled up against Daemonak's side.  Daemonak folded his wings over the Babo and pressed close to him, warming him.  Grok's skin was cold, and the barbed wires he wore were like bands of ice held against Daemonak's flesh until they slowly absorbed the Damo's warmth.  It wasn't until then that Daemonak felt a few of the barbs digging into him.  Grok was not pushing against him enough for the barbs to pierce Daemonak's skin, but they did cause him some discomfort.  Still, he decided it was worth the slight pain to feel Grok beside him.

Grok turned so that their faces were close together, his goatee brushing Daemonak's chin.  He still shook with cold, but the trembling was exciting to Daemonak: it showed one of Grok's few vulnerabilities.  Daemonak drew him a little closer with his wings, even though it increased the pressure of the barbed wire on the Damo's skin.  Grok's shivering eventually lessened until only an occasional quiver worked its way through his body.

Grok's mouth touched Daemonak's skin, just at the corner of the Damo's own mouth.  It had been two days since they'd kissed in Grok's room and slept side by side in the same nest; since then, Daemonak had longed to taste his commander again though Grok never mentioned what had happened.  Now the temptation was nearly overwhelming.

Daemonak closed his eyes and shifted slightly so that his lips brushed Grok's; the Babo shivered again and pressed closer.  A barb dug into Daemonak's cheek, but he hardly noticed it: instead, his attention focused on Grok's mouth against his.  Daemonak parted his lips and flicked his forked tongue against the Babo's closed lips.  Grok grinned suddenly and opened his mouth at the same time, sucking Daemonak's tongue in.  The Damo gave a low moan of surprise and gladly submitted to the kiss.

"You really believe in me?" Grok murmured against Daemonak's mouth after they broke the kiss.

"Yes."  Daemonak slowly opened his eyes, focusing on Grok's golden right eye so close to him.  Grok looked at him a moment, then his eye flicked away.

"Then don't go back to Velouria," he muttered.  "Don't leave me."

Daemonak's wings shook for an instant before he could regain control of them.  "I promise, I will stay at your side," he whispered.  He drew his wings over Grok's sides in an attempt at a comforting gesture, though he cringed when the delicate skin between his bones caught on one of the barbs.

Grok must have noticed, for he mumbled, "Let's go back inside.  I want to. . . get more comfortable."  Daemonak hesitated, thinking again of Aescu, but then he nodded and turned with Grok toward their building.

To Daemonak's relief, they encountered no one as they made their way through their dilapidated headquarters.  He followed Grok to the latter's room but hung back in the doorway as Grok entered.  Daemonak felt awkward about going inside, knowing that this time he was coming in as something other than Grok's subordinate.  Just what that something was, he wasn't sure.

But then Grok turned and gave him an impatient look.  "Well?" the Babo prompted in a growl.

His peremptory tone irked Daemonak.  "Are you sure about this?" he muttered sullenly.  Grok glared at him then turned to the right so that Daemonak could only see his expressionless blind eye.

"I want you," declared the Babo, his voice low.  "I'm sure about _that_."

Daemonak rolled into the room slowly, letting the door slide closed behind him with a hiss.  Grok flinched slightly at the soft noise, then started when Daemonak brushed up behind him; Grok was apparently surprised that the Damo had stayed.

"I told you I would stand beside you," Daemonak reminded Grok, tasting a little of the Babo's blood as his lips touched Grok's skin near one of his wounds.  "But only as long as I am not just a. . . diversion."

Grok gave a hoarse laugh.  "Hah, you're too much trouble for just a fling."  He shifted, trying to move so that Daemonak's mouth would pass over his torn skin.  Daemonak flicked his tongue over the wound thoughtfully; the resulting moan from Grok made him ache with longing.

"Trouble?" Daemonak echoed, determined not to give in to his desires so eagerly.  "Am I not obedient enough?"

"That's the problem-- I think you'd do anything I asked you to."  Grok turned a little to grin back at him, a bit desperately, Daemonak thought.  "And a leader should never get. . . _involved_ with his subordinates."

Daemonak was surprised and a little frightened at how much his emotions fluctuated at Grok's words.  A dozen conflicting thoughts raced through his mind: _Does that mean he does not want to be "involved" with me?  No, I know he wants me when he looks at me like that. . . but what if I **am** just a "fling"?  What if he does send me away someday?_

Grok must have seen something of those thoughts in Daemonak's yellow eyes.  The Babo's grin faded, and his single good eye flickered downward before returning to Daemonak's face.

Grok muttered in a low voice, "Daemo, if I wanted a diversion. . . I'd pick someone I didn't care about."  He turned and pressed his mouth to Daemonak's in the first gentle gesture the Damo had ever known him to make.  Daemonak was tempted to ask just what it was Grok _did_ want, but he was too afraid of what the answer might be.  _I have never cared for anyone before.  If he said he wanted that from me, it would make me so vulnerable.  And yet. . . he said he cares for **me**. . . ._

As he kissed Grok back, Daemonak unfolded his wings and used them to begin gently removing Grok's barbed wire.  The Babo didn't protest this time; he even shifted from side to side to help Daemonak "undress" him.  When he had finished, Daemonak felt a gentle telekinetic tug from his leader, pulling him towards Grok's nest.  Daemonak rolled into the nest after Grok and reclined on his back, spreading his wings out a bit.  Grok moved up to sit beside Daemonak's head and leaned forward to plant a kiss on his calcified crest before looking down into his eyes with a grin.

"Well?  Do you like this arrangement?" Grok purred in a gravelly voice.

Daemonak did like it, very much.  Instead of answering, though, he reached up to catch Grok in his wings, then he pulled the Babo down and kissed his mouth hard, the way he knew Grok liked it.  The Babo moaned with appreciation as Daemonak nipped at his lips and tongue.  Soon Daemonak had forgotten all about his bad day; all that mattered at the moment was Grok, feeling his warmth against Daemonak's ancient skin, hearing his groans and raspy coos of pleasure.

Later, Grok lay nestled in his blankets and pressed against Daemonak's side.  He again slept without his wires, leaving Daemonak free to hold his leader in his wings without danger of being hurt.  Daemonak stroked the sleeping Babo's skin with his wings, examining the tattoos on Grok's side as well as each scar that marked his flesh.

 _He is my real prize,_ Daemonak thought. _Even if we had captured the Terracora, I would give it up again to be beside him._   And yet, somehow, it all made him feel sad.  Happiness had always seemed fleeting to him, something that passed so quickly, it was hardly worth pursuing.  Consequently, a fleet of worries plagued Daemonak.

 _I am far older than he, and I am not even a Babo.  He will tire of me and turn to someone else. . . and that will break my heart. . . ._   This last thought startled him; Daemonak had always assumed his heart was as impenetrable as the ice of Velouria.  He had always, _always_ been alone. . . and maybe this fear explained why.

Grok grumbled in his sleep and rolled to his back.  He seemed to be dreaming: his eyelids and lips twitched in distress.  Daemonak tightened the hold of his wings and used one wingtip to smooth Grok's skin between his wounds; then he combed his wing claws through the Babo's dark green goatee, which Daemonak had always viewed as a useless but endearing concession to vanity.

Under his ministrations, Grok relaxed.  He opened one eye-- his blind one-- and smiled faintly at something in his dreams, where even the dead eye was blessed with sight once more.

"Daemo. . . ." he murmured, then his eye closed, and he shifted to press his face into Daemonak's wing.

Daemonak's heart didn't shatter like ice, as he had feared, but it certainly melted.  He held Grok close, hoping to keep further nightmares away, until he slept as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next couple weeks, Pett's army of Chompiis completed the Militia's underground bunkers.  As Daemonak had suggested, Grok and the other five leaders took up residence there.  Horn Head griped about having to live underground, but the others didn't seem to mind; Pett and Magmor were already used to it, after all.

Grok let them choose their own rooms-- after he had selected his and Daemonak's.  It turned out that he had picked neighboring rooms for the two of them, but what's more, the two rooms were connected by an inner doorway.  Thanks to that, Grok and Daemonak spent most nights together unbeknownst to the others.

One evening, Daemonak was in his own room rereading one of the old journals the Militia had found on their missions.  It was written by a J.J. Jenkins, ancestor of the meddling scientist who had thawed Daemonak out.  This elder Jenkins had apparently started out as brilliant as his descendent; however, by the time the journal ended, he had become madder than Grok due to Terracite exposure.

A moment later, Daemonak wasn't so sure about the "madder than Grok" bit, for a furious roar sounded from the room next door.  Daemonak glanced at the door between his and Grok's rooms, then went back to his reading.  When the sound was repeated twice in the next few minutes, along with the sound of Grok's head meeting the wall, Daemonak sighed and put down the journal.  Grok's tantrums had been fewer and farther between lately, so something big must have happened.  
  
Daemonak rolled over to the door and opened it a crack to peer through.  Grok was rolling back and forth, ranting to himself.

"Grok?"  Daemonak rolled into his leader's room.

"Ergggh."  Despite the growl, Grok came out of his rage immediately.  He turned to Daemonak with a harrumph.

"Daemonak.  We have to go back to Velouria."

Daemonak blinked.  "What?  Why?"

"Aescu just brought me a report of a Merc communication she intercepted.  They've discovered a small patch of Terracite crystals in one of the abandoned mines, and they're already on their way to harvest it."

"Hmm.  It is surprising that the B*D*I missed any crystals-- and that there are any left now that the Terracora is gone."

"Never mind that!" Grok snapped.  "Don't you realize what this means?  We have to get started right away if we're going to beat the Mercs to it!"

This time Daemonak was the one to growl.  "You mean you want to go to Velouria _now_?  After a few crystals?"  It wasn't so much that he minded the trip, even at that time of night.  Instead, Daemonak was worried about Grok being around Terracite again, no matter how small the amount.  _Exposure was dangerous enough.  What might it do to him to be **re-** exposed?_ Daemonak wondered.

Grok downright snarled at him.  "They could be the last 'few crystals' left in the Babolon system!  We cannot leave them to that Merc scum!"  He turned away in a huff and rolled towards the door that led to the hall outside.  "Stay here if you don't want to go-- but _you're_ the one who's been mooning after Velouria!"

In spite of realizing that it was a waste of emotion, Daemonak felt hurt at Grok's treatment of him.  He knew, intellectually, that the angry behavior was par for the course for the Militia's leader.  However, Grok had acted differently towards _him_ over the past few weeks.  Now though, Grok spoke to him as if Daemonak were no more important to him than any of the other top Militia members.

"I will come with you," Daemonak said in a low voice.  Grok stopped his movement towards the door.

"Good," he muttered.

"How will we get there?" asked Daemonak as he caught up to Grok.  He stayed just behind his leader in an act of deference he had been ignoring as of late.  "We do not have a functioning ship, and the regular shuttle to Velouria would be far too slow."

"I sent Aescu and Pett to commandeer the ship from that Merc camp nearby."  Grok turned back to face Daemonak.  "Pett is going to report back when they've obtained it."

"Mhm."  Daemonak lowered his eyes submissively, indicating that he really would obey Grok's orders no matter his opinion of them.  He was startled a moment later when Grok brushed up against him and pressed his lips to Daemonak's cheek.

"This'll be the last of the Terracite, I promise," Grok murmured.  Daemonak flicked his eyes up to Grok's again, surprised at his leader's perceptiveness.

Daemonak murmured, "I am worried about you, Grok.  The Terracite. . . you are addicted to it."

Both of Grok's eyes widened slightly.  "It will benefit the Militia-- it isn't for _me_."  Daemonak didn't reply, only gazing at Grok steadily instead.  Grok's good eye wavered, then he sighed.  "This will end it, Daemo.  There won't be any more left after this."

"I hope not," muttered Daemonak before he could stop himself.

"I promise," Grok whispered.  
  
Before Daemonak could say anything else, a frenetic thumping sounded on the outside of the hall door, followed by a hoarse, high-pitched cry: "Grok!  Boss boss boss!"

"Pett," Grok sighed.  He turned away from Daemonak and opened the door.  Pett was indeed outside, hopping up and down.  The little Chompii squawked in triumph.

"We got the ship!  Aescu's got it outside, but we gotta hurry 'fore the Mercs get here!  Hurry hurry hurry--"

"Yes, Pett, we're coming," Grok growled.  As always, Daemonak marveled at how patient the Scorched leader could be with Pett.  While the Chompii was unusually intelligent, Pett's behavior was at best like that of a small child; at worst, he was a hyper ball of teeth and orifices who wouldn't stay still and never stopped talking.  Daemonak himself tried to spend as little time around Pett as possible.

Grok and Daemonak went outside while Pett rolled off screeching for Magmor and Horn Head.  The Merc ship was a small one, apparently only meant as a transport for a handful of troops: the barracks were only made to hold ten Babos.  Of course, that was more than enough room for the six elite Militia members.

"Do you have complete control of the ship, Aescu?" Grok asked as they joined the cyborg on the bridge.

"Yes," Aescu hissed.  She raised her organic eye to indicate that one of her cables ran from the top of her head into a jack on the computer.  "And I've disabled the speed limitations in its computers, too-- it should reach Velouria before the Mercs get there in their larger transport."  She disconnected herself from the computer and turned to look the two males over.  Her violet lips twitched in a smirk as she eyed Daemonak; he resolutely looked away, not in the mood to put up with her teasing.

Pett, Magmor, and Horn Head arrived soon after, and Grok launched the stolen ship towards Velouria.  The journey was uneventful, although long and tedious as always.  There was no way to tell whether they were ahead of the Mercs, and all they could do was hope.

Daemonak did not even do that; in fact, he hoped the opposite: that the Mercs would reach Velouria first and take all the Terracite before Grok could get to it.  The Damo still wasn't sure how he felt about Grok's sanity returning, but he was positive that he didn't want his leader addicted to the crystals once more.

He was dozing in the barracks when the ship neared Velouria and Magmor, who was at the helm when the icy moon was sighted, bellowed for everyone to prepare for landing.  The Moltok brought the ship down near the entrance to the mine mentioned in the communication Aescu intercepted.  After the two Babos and Horn Head had put on their winter gear, and they all had equipped themselves with radios and a few provisions, the six rolled out of the ship to investigate.

"No sign of the Mercs," Grok muttered as they approached the mine's entrance.  "It looks like we got here first."  He glanced over at Aescu and Magmor, who had taken turns piloting the ship.  "Good work."  Magmor didn't acknowledge the compliment, and Aescu only nodded slightly.

They rolled down into the mine's entrance, which split off into three separate tunnels just inside.  It was slightly warmer there, where the walls of icy rock sheltered them from the frigid surface winds.  Still, Daemonak knew that the deeper they ventured into the mine, the colder it would become.  All the Terracite mines on Velouria were built out from the ancient Damo tunnels crisscrossing the outer mantel of the moon.  These tunnels were chilly even to the Damos and hardy species such as Moltoks and Chompiis.  To Babos, they must be bitter indeed.

Grok looked back at Aescu.  "Did the Mercs say anything specific about where the Terracite was found?"

"No," Aescu hissed.  "I'm afraid not."

"Guess we'll just have to explore!" observed Horn Head.  "Should we split up?"

They all looked to Grok for the answer, and he nodded.  "I suppose it's the most practical thing. Two to a tunnel.  Whoever finds the Terracite is to radio the other groups your location _immediately_ , then wait for them to reach you.  Understand?"

"Fine, fine, but how're we gonna split up?" Horn Head said in his usual scratchy, rushed voice.  "I ain't workin' with Magmor, that's for sure!"

"Hmph, Magmor not want work with pitiful Madball either!" sniffed the Moltok.

" _I'll_ pick the groups," Grok snarled.  "Horn Head and Aescu in the left tunnel, Magmor and Pett in the middle. . . and myself and Daemonak on the right."  
  
"Mmn, of course," hummed Aescu.  Daemonak flattened his wings against his sides, bristling.

Grok didn't seem to have noticed her comment.  "If you find nothing in your tunnel, return here and wait for the rest.  Otherwise, search quickly but thoroughly. . . and _no fighting_!"

The easily distracted Pett had hardly paid attention to the proceedings.  Instead, he was peering nervously down his assigned tunnel-- or Daemonak assumed he was peering.  The Damo still wasn't quite certain how Pett could see without any visible eyes.

"It's dark down there!" the Chompii whined.  "Dark and cold and smells funny!"

" _You_ smell funny!" Horn Head quipped, but Pett ignored him.  Instead, the little Chompii's attention was focused on Magmor, who had spoken over Horn Head.

"Haha, Pett scared!  Tiny little baby Chompii needs Magmor to protect!"

"I'm not a baby!" Pett retorted, though he drew back against the rock wall laced with veins of ice.  "And-- and I don't need _you_!"  Even Daemonak felt a touch of sympathy for him.  Magmor mocked them all (except for Grok, of course), but he seemed to tease Pett more often and more cruelly than he did the others.  Pett was obviously scared of the giant Moltok, especially when Magmor used his Colossus ability.  Still, he usually made a valiant effort to hide his fear.

"Then Pett go first!" boomed Magmor.

"F-fine!"  Pett rallied himself, baring most of the teeth in his orifices at the Moltok, then he began to roll down his assigned tunnel.  Daemonak noticed that he was shaking.

"Leave him alone, Magmor," Grok sighed out of habit, then nodded at Daemonak to follow him down their own tunnel.  The last Daemonak saw of the others, Magmor was following Pett, and Horn Head and Aescu were already bickering about who would get to radio Grok when they found the Terracite.

Daemonak and Grok rolled along in silence for a while as the air grew chillier around them.  Soon the breath of both was crystallizing in the air before their mouths.  Daemonak folded his wings closer over his back, and he worried about Grok, although the Babo was wearing a dark green, lined coat about his body.  The barbs on the wire he wore underneath poked through the fabric here and there, making him resemble a round cactus from behind.

After perhaps fifteen minutes had passed, Grok let out a low growl.  "No sign of anything!"

"We have not been searching for very long," Daemonak pointed out.  "This tunnel could go on for miles."  
  
"But I can't even _sense_ it," Grok shot back.  "I would know if it was anywhere close!"  Daemonak did not reply, although that new bit of knowledge was rather disturbing.  He could tell that Grok was itching to radio the others and ask for reports, even though they had promised to call as soon as they found anything.  The Babo leader kept glancing down at the radio secured to his coat with a strap, but he managed to restrain himself from using it.

"You can travel faster than I can, if you fly," said Grok after another few moments of silence.  "You could go on ahead and see what's up there."

Daemonak responded immediately, "No.  This is an unfamiliar place; I do not want us to get separated."

"What's going to happen down here?" Grok chuckled.  "Obviously, we got here ahead of the Mercs, so unless the other Damos turn up. . . ."

"That is not the problem."  Daemonak fluttered his wings to hop over a patch of ice crystals in his path.  "These tunnels can be treacherous; they were built from ancient Damo pathways, and the B*D*I did not always stabilize them properly."

"Hmph, if we get trapped by a cave-in, we can just call the others.  Magmor can smash his way through anything!"

Daemonak sighed and said nothing more, knowing that Grok's stubbornness was going full force.  Instead, the Damo concentrated on keeping alert and watching for any signs of instability around them-- as well as for any stray Chompiis or Moltoks.

Then, abruptly, Grok's rolling motion came to a halt, and he seemed to freeze in place.  Daemonak nearly bumped into him.

"What is it?" the Damo asked.

"Terracite!" Grok breathed.  "I feel it now.  There's only a small amount, but it's close!"

"Grok--" Daemonak began, but the Babo ignored him and rolled forward at a quicker pace.  Daemonak bumped along after him, trying to keep pace as Grok moved heedlessly over small rocks and chunks of ice.  In a few cases, the debris was kicked up against the sides of the tunnel, where it clunked and rang ominously.

"Grok, be careful!" growled Daemonak as he heard a soft crackle from the ice over which they rolled.  Looking down, he could see a few hairline cracks, and he launched himself into the air and flew along the tunnel's ceiling to put less pressure on the fragile floor.

"There it is!" Grok hissed.  Just ahead of them, about fifty yards away, the tunnel came to a dead end, opening into a small open space.  It seemed to have been filled with Terracite at one time, but now, there were only pads of ice and rock on which the alien crystals had grown.  At first he didn't think there was any Terracite at all, but as they drew closer, Daemonak spotted a few immature crystals against one wall.  Apparently they had just begun reforming from the depleted mine when the Terracora had vanished.

Grok sped up, fairly launching himself towards the crystals.  As he did so, one of the barbs sticking out of his coat caught in a crack in the ice.  It threw Grok off balance, and he rolled into the side of the tunnel, snarling in irritation.  Daemonak noticed what Grok did not: the barb had split the ice further in a crack that now snaked its way back the way they had come.

"Grok, don't move!" he urged, but Grok just glared at him and rolled back to the center of the tunnel.  As soon as the ice was forced to bear his weight, it cracked with a loud noise like the firing of one of their weapons.  Grok turned to look behind him in alarm, but the floor gave way before he could react further.  The Scorched leader gave a roar of surprise and anger as he tumbled downward in a shower of ice chunks.

" _Grok_!" Daemonak all but wailed.  He shot down from where he hovered to dive after the Babo, heedless of the debris falling around him.  A small stone clipped his right wing, and Daemonak found himself knocked off balance, spinning out of control and falling after Grok into the iciness below.


	4. Chapter 4

The icy world spun around Daemonak as he fell.  For a moment, he was sure his wing was broken, but then he flapped it frantically, despite the pain, and managed to right himself in the air.  Relieved that he wasn't badly injured, Daemonak dodged the rest of the following stones and chunks of ice before landing amidst the rubble.

His first concern was for Grok; it didn't matter where they had ended up as long as Grok was all right.  Daemonak cast his yellow eyes about the area, searching for his leader in the piles of rock and calling his name.

Finally an answering groan sounded from one corner of the cavern in which they had landed.  Daemonak fluttered over the debris and found Grok lying on his back.  His eyes were closed, and a deep gash oozed blood from the top left of his head, just above the scar over his eye socket.  Still, no rocks had landed on top of him, so it could have been worse.

"Grok!" Daemonak urged, shaking the Babo with both wings.  Grok groaned again, pain evident in his voice, but he did open his eyes.

"Daemo. . . . head hurts."  
  
"I know, I will. . . I will do something!" Daemonak mumbled, although he was at a loss as to what he _could_ do.  He leaned forward and licked at the wound tentatively, but he knew it was far too severe for mere Damo saliva to help.

When he sat back again, Grok's good eye was peering blearily around them.  "We're. . . trapped," he hissed in between breaths.  Daemonak looked too and found that the cavern in which they had landed was smaller than he thought.  There were a couple small crevices in the icy walls, but Grok's eye was focused on the way they had come in: the cavern's ceiling was high above them, far out of Grok's reach.

Daemonak grabbed their radio and signaled the other two pairs of Militia members, pushing the call button several times. There was no response to his signal, so he called into the microphone.  "Magmor, come in!  Aescu, come in!"  Only a crackle of static answered back.

"The radio is not working.  We must be out of range," Daemonak muttered.  He looked up again, judging if he could lift Grok enough to fly them both out.  It was a possibility, but not a likely one.  _I will have to go for help instead_.

But when he looked at Grok, Daemonak realized immediately that he couldn't leave the Babo.  Grok was shivering violently, both eyes closed again.  The blood was not flowing as quickly-- but only because the gouge in his head was too deep to bleed much.

"Grok!"  Daemonak shook the Babo again, trying to keep him from losing consciousness.  The yellow eye opened again to peer blearily up at Daemonak's face.

"Get outta here 'fore you freeze," Grok slurred.  "You can fly away. . . ."

The Damo rolled his eyes in fear more than frustration.  "I am not going to leave you!"

"Can't carry me that far. . . go on without me."  Grok's eyelid drooped lower and lower.  "Thassa order, Daemo."

"I refuse."  Daemonak leaned over Grok and folded his wings around the Babo to try to keep him warmer.  "I have to take care of you."

"Too late.  I screwed that up."  Grok closed his eye and was silent, then abruptly he opened it again and looked into Daemonak's worried face.  "Love you, Daemo."

Daemonak's fanged mouth fell open.  _Delirious_ , was his first thought.  _He is delirious!_   But he forgot everything else when Grok's eye closed once more and stayed that way.

"Grok!  _Grok!_ "  Daemonak pulled his leader closer and nipped at his face, trying to wake him.  There was no response, and Daemonak automatically assumed the worst.

"Grok. . . ."  Swallowing hard against the sudden pain in his concealed throat, Daemonak leaned his cheek against Grok's lips, feeling for any breath.  The Damo groaned in relief when the air stirred faintly against his skin.          

Daemonak looked around them and tried to fix on a course of action.  _I have to try to carry him out_ , the Damo decided, although he was all but certain he would fail.  He shifted behind Grok and gripped the top of the Babo's coat firmly between his teeth.  Daemonak flapped his wings with long, full strokes and managed to lift Grok a couple of feet off the ground.  However, the Babo was too heavy for Daemonak to move higher, and his wings soon grew weak.  He set Grok back down heavily and growled in frustration.

After checking to be sure Grok was still breathing, Daemonak rolled over to the crevices in the wall.  One proved to only be a large crack in the ice, but Daemonak found that the other led to a narrow tunnel.  He ventured a few feet inside, then stopped short.  The tunnel was lined with carven stone blocks, each marked with a snarling Damo face.

Daemonak was at once both relieved and worried.  The blocks told him that he had found one of the ancient Damo pathways beneath the ice.  That meant there was a way for both him and Grok to escape the cavern and find aid.  The bad thing was that this aid would have to come from the Damos.

 _They may kill us both as soon as they see us,_ Daemonak thought, but then he looked back at Grok.  _But. . . he will not live if I do not try._   Daemonak made his way back to his leader, clearing a path through the stones and bits of ice as he went.  Once he reached Grok, Daemonak began to roll his leader gently along the ground towards the tunnel.  It was slow going, as Daemonak had to be careful not to roll Grok on his wound, and he stopped frequently to check the Babo's breathing.

 _I will not let him die!_ Daemonak swore to himself as they began to creep down the tunnel.

\--

It took nearly an hour for Daemonak to reach the outskirts of the underground Damo settlement.  As he drew closer, still gently rolling Grok along, Daemonak saw columns made of the decorated stones.  Some were topped with flaming torches.  A few scraggly, foliage-less trees sprouted from the ice, and delicate crystals-- of ice, not Terracite-- cast glittering reflections from the torches.  Surrounded by the sights of his former life, Daemonak realized just how homesick he had been.

Still, he hesitated as he drew nearer to the settlement and the other Damos.  Daemonak had to force himself to move on, pushing Grok ahead of him, until the wall of the settlement appeared.  It was identical to the walls the Scorched Militia had breached on the settlement's other side on their quest for the Terracora.  Two Damo guards were perched on the wall, though Daemonak assumed they didn't normally have much work to do.

 _They must be worried about more strangers invading,_ Daemonak realized.  _Yet there is nothing for the Mercs or Babos here, now that the Terracora is gone._

One of the guards spotted Daemonak and the unconscious Babo immediately.  The guard gave an angry hiss and spread his wings, swooping down with his stony teeth bared to challenge them.  Now alerted to the situation, the other guard soon joined him.  The two landed in front of Grok, whose body hid them from Daemonak's sight.

"Flatlander!" snarled the first guard in a sibilant, echoing voice.  "How dare you--"  He broke off then said to his companion, "He-- he is _dead_."

"He is _not_!" spat Daemonak, flapping his wings to hop over Grok.  Still, he had to check to reassure himself that they were wrong.  At finally getting a clear view of Daemonak, both guards gasped.

"It's a Damo!" squawked the second.  Once Daemonak was sure Grok was still living, he turned to face both guards.

"Daemonak!" the first guard breathed.  Looking into the two surprised faces beneath the protective helmets, Daemonak recognized them both.  The Damo settlement was small, and each Damo knew all the others.  Unfortunately, this could work against the exiled Daemonak's favor.

"How dare you return here?" the first guard went on, picking up right where he had left off.  "After you turned your back on us and helped those groundies enter our sanctum--"

After years of dealing with Grok's anger, Daemonak was well-equipped to answer calmly.  "This Babo is badly wounded.  He will die without  medical attention.  I wish to take him to the healer."

The first guard gawked at his audacity.  "You will do no such thing!"  He peered down at Grok, then scowled.  "I recognize this groundie-- he is the leader of the filthy Militia!  He will rot before you bring him inside our walls, you traitor!"

Daemonak had pretty much expected such a reception, but he winced all the same at the condemnation of Grok to death.  The second guard noticed the gesture and looked at Daemonak curiously, then he turned to his companion and tugged on the first guard's wing.

"Aglaeca. . . if we allow the Militia's leader to die, they will return here for revenge."

"So?" Aglaeca growled.  "We will destroy them!"

"Um, maybe. . . but do you really want to be bothered with such a nuisance again?  I thought you said last time that you had had enough. . . ."

Aglaeca sighed, and his wings drooped as he looked at his companion sideways.  "Why must you be so logical,   Lorccan?  It would be so much easier just to ignore this one."  Daemonak waited, trying to keep his patience.  Lorccan did not try to answer the rhetorical question, and finally Aglaeca turned back to Daemonak and Grok.

"All right, you may enter."  The two guards moved to the heavy stone door set in the wall and slid it open.  They then waited on either side of it for Daemonak to push Grok through.

"But do not expect any favors from the guardians," Aglaeca added as Daemonak passed.  "Since your dear Militia killed the old guardians, the new ones are quite wary of groundies."

The two guards followed close behind Daemonak as he rolled Grok into the Damo settlement.  The few Damos who were about on business stared at the little procession, and whispers hissed on all sides.  Daemonak knew what they must be saying: here was the traitor returned, with the leader of the force who had tried to destroy them, no less.  Daemonak was not easily embarrassed, and their opinions meant nothing to him.  It was only the four guardians, the leaders of the settlement, who mattered: they were the ones who could order him and Grok killed.

Lorccan waited with the visitors in the center of the settlement as Aglaeca went to fetch the guardians.  The area had not changed since Daemonak had been there last.  He and Grok sat on a stone platform in the square, surrounded by a ring of stone columns tipped with flame.  Trees and crystals formed the outer boundary of the area, and it was here that the other Damos gathered, staring.

Word spread quickly, and soon the whole settlement was there to watch.  Judging from the angry sounds of their murmuring, they wanted to see the outsiders humiliated-- or destroyed.  Daemonak drew closer to the comatose Grok and spread a wing across his back, hoping to warm him a little in the frigid heart of the settlement.  Lorccan eyed them, without hostility, but he said nothing.

Finally, Aglaeca returned with the four guardians behind him.  The role of guardian was the highest in the settlement; the four original guardians had been wise and strong Damos, but they fell trying to keep the Militia away from the sanctum which harbored the Terracora.  Daemonak regretted their deaths more than he would ever say, because he knew the Damos had no interest in the Terracora itself: they only wished to keep the flatlanders away from their home.

He knew the four replacement guardians, though none very well.  All were large, bigger than he, and they gathered before Daemonak and Grok, glaring.  Aglaeca and Lorccan positioned themselves on either side with a deep bow, sweeping their wings along the ground.  Daemonak echoed the bow, not out of any sense of loyalty, but because he wanted the guardians to be as amenable as possible.

"Why have you returned here, traitor?" bellowed the largest of the four.  Placing his wing against Grok once more, Daemonak calmly related the story of how the two had fallen through the ice and been unable to escape.

"Grok will die without medical treatment," Daemonak finished.  "He is near--"  To his amazement, he choked on the next word.  It felt as if his mind were separated from the body nearly overcome with emotion, and he marveled that he could feel such things, even for Grok.  "He is near death already," he finally managed.

"And why should we aid either of you?" another guardian challenged.  "His orders destroyed our predecessors and others of our brethren-- _your_ brethren too, before you betrayed us.  Why should we care if he dies?  For your sake?"

"I say we kill them both," spoke a third guardian with glowing eyes that reminded Daemonak of Magmor's.  "The flatlander. . . _and_ that traitorous groundie-lover!"

This time, Daemonak's face flared with heat.  No matter if he _didn't_ care what most of them said; to be called _that_ was the greatest verbal insult any Damo could give.  The watching crowd gasped, and Lorccan looked both surprised and a little embarrassed.

 _But it's true_.  With that thought, Daemonak's humiliation dissolved.  _He is a groundie-- and I love him._   Whether or not Grok was sensible when he claimed to love Daemonak, the Damo knew his own feelings were true, and that he would suffer anything, shame included, for Grok's sake.

Daemonak bowed again to the guardians and breathed to the icy ground, "You may kill me as the traitor I am, but please spare him.  Please allow the healer to help him."

Again the murmur about him rose, and when Daemonak looked up, all four guardians were gawking at him.  In fact, they looked rather silly with their toothy mouths hanging open.  They glanced at one another, taken aback. . . but then the third, the one who had spoken of killing, came forward with his Zooka-like weapon leveled at Daemonak's crest.

"Pathetic!" he boomed.  "Your black blood is not worthy of staining our ice!"  He seemed perfectly willing to shed it, all the same.

 _It is no use. . . .  He will kill me and let Grok die._   Again Daemonak felt the strange pain in his throat, accompanied by an ache behind his eyes.  _So be it.  We will be together then, better than living without him. . . ._   Daemonak rolled onto his left side with a soft sigh, and as he closed his eyes, he covered the right side of his round body with his wing.

It was the ancient Damo gesture of complete submission, and it was followed by complete silence from the other Damos.  Daemonak had stunned the murmurs right out of them.

"Let them live," said a voice Daemonak had not yet heard speak.  He recognized it as belonging to the fourth guardian, who was likely the eldest Damo in the entire settlement.  "Letting Daemonak live in his shame is a more fitting punishment than death."

Daemonak moved his wing a little to peek over it, and he saw the other three guardians looking at one another.  One actually shrugged his wings.  The one with the weapon then turned back to Daemonak and prodded him with its barrel, snarling.

"Get up, you worthless craven!"

Daemonak righted himself and fluttered back to sit directly in front of Grok, where the Babo's unconscious breath on his back reassured him.

The elder guardian rotated to search the crowd with his eyes.  "Where is the healer?"

From a knot of red bodies near the back of the room, a female Damo lifted and flew forward.  She and the other women looked very much like the males but with more delicate wings, larger eyes, and less prominent crests.  The healer wore a silvery metal band around the base of each wing, as well as a light-weight ornamental helmet.  She landed before the guardians, putting herself between them and Daemonak.

"Veralyn, please aid this Babo to the best of your ability," instructed the elder.  "If he dies, no blame will be on you, but. . . ."

"But I will try."  Her voice was lighter than a male's but still deep.  After hearing only one female voice-- Aescu's vaguely electronic purr-- for a long time, Daemonak was a bit startled.  He had known Veralyn all his life, even before he was frozen, but she now seemed unfamiliar.

Veralyn bowed to the guardians then turned to Daemonak.  "Bring him this way," she instructed, gesturing to her left with a wing.  "I will tend him in my examination room."

Daemonak nodded and began to push Grok after her; he glanced up at the guardians as he went.  The one with the weapon glowered at him, and the other two looked away.  The elder, though, met his gaze and gave the very faintest of smiles.  Daemonak was hardly sure he had seen the twitch of the wrinkled mouth, yet he realized what it meant.  The elder didn't believe for a minute that Daemonak was suffering from shame. . . but he knew how to manipulate the other Damos into getting what he wanted.

Daemonak stopped just long enough to bow deeply before his and Grok's rescuer, then he hurried to bring the Babo inside for Veralyn's care.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is he going to live?" Daemonak asked as Veralyn arranged Grok in her exam room.  She had asked Daemonak to roll the Babo onto a raised platform beside which a warm fire burned.  The room was small, and there was little else there besides a few shelves which held equipment.

"It is a bit early to tell.  I need to examine him first."  She arched one eye at Daemonak, then turned to the shelves to take up a kettle.  Veralyn broke off a few ice crystals from one of the walls and dropped them in the kettle, which she hung over the fire.

Daemonak hovered nearby and watched as Veralyn studied the wound.  She chewed on her lip a moment before using her wings carefully to remove Grok's bloodied coat.

"What is this for?"  She plucked at one of Grok's wires with her wing claw.  Daemonak had to shrug.

"He. . . enjoys being stimulated by pain.  Not pain like _this_ of course--" Daemonak gestured at Grok's deep wound.  "--but smaller amounts."

"I. . . see."  Veralyn's wings twitched slightly, but she said nothing else.  Instead she removed the wire, which she laid aside with the coat.  "It looks as if the wound has not damaged his skull," she finally announced.  "I cannot promise, but I believe he will survive."

Daemonak sank back on the ground, weak with relief.  "I thought. . . it looked so deep. . . ."

"It _is_ deep, but it is a flesh wound.  Still, you did well to bring him here.  If the wound went untreated, necrosis _could_ have killed him-- although the shock and cold would likely have done so quicker."

Daemonak cast a sideways look at her.  "You always did have such a good nest-side manner, Veralyn."

"Heh."  She actually smiled faintly as she took the kettle from the fire and poured some of the hot water, melted from the ice crystals, into a separate bowl.  Veralyn picked up a clean cloth from another shelf and carefully washed Grok's wound.  Once it was clean, she gathered some herbs from her supplies and layered them in the bottom of a separate bowl.

"These will ease the pain as well as prevent infection," she told Daemonak.  "I will have to sew up the wound, but he is still unconscious, so it should cause no additional pain.  After that, I will apply the poultice.  That way, it will not hurt him so much when he awakes."

"Do. . . you think he will awaken soon?"

"It is hard to tell."  Veralyn sterilized a metal needle in the boiling water and threaded it with waxed twine.  Daemonak looked away when she started to suture the wound-- although, knowing Grok, he probably wouldn't have minded.

"The important thing," she went on as she worked, "is to keep him warm.  He does not have hypothermia yet, but flatlanders are susceptible to it in this climate."  Veralyn looked up at Daemonak and smiled again.  "I will leave you in charge of warming him.  You can also apply fresh poultices during the night should he need them."

"Is there. . . somewhere we can stay?" Daemonak murmured.  "I do not think we are welcome in the settlement."

"You can stay here," Veralyn assured him.  "I have extra blankets for when ill patients must be hospitalized.  You both can nest in this room by the fire."  She finished with the suturing and knotted her twine tightly.  "I live in the building next door, so if something should happen, you can fetch me."

"Thank you."  Daemonak approached Grok cautiously to examine Veralyn's work.  The stitches now held the wound closed, and Grok looked more like himself again.

"Here is how you make the poultice."  Veralyn demonstrated soaking a cloth in the warm, herb-infused water, then she wrung it out and placed it on Grok's wound.  "You can keep this bowl by the fire so it will be warm for him."  She looked over the rest of Grok's usual cuts and scrapes.  "I think I should clean these as well, just to be safe."

Veralyn dampened a clean cloth and started to clean the old wound over Grok's right eye; however, she paused after she got a good look at it.  She looked at Daemonak over the top of Grok's head.

"These have already been treated.  With Damo saliva."

For the second time that day, Daemonak blushed.

Veralyn tended the old wounds anyway, then she brought out a large nesting-basket and lined it with blankets.  When she had placed it by the fire, she and Daemonak gently rolled Grok into the nest and made sure he would be comfortable.

"There is enough room for you here too," Veralyn said softly.  "I know you will care well for him."  Daemonak nodded, although he waited until she left before he climbed into the nest with Grok.

Daemonak curled up beside the Babo and folded the blankets close about them both.  Grok's skin felt cool, but his body soon warmed against Daemonak's.  The Damo wrapped his wings about Grok and held him tightly, finally giving in to the emotions that had plagued him throughout the day.  Daemonak lay there trembling against Grok in the firelight until he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

\--

Daemonak awakened once in the night when Veralyn came to check on Grok.  Daemonak was too drowsy to remember much about the visit, but when he woke again early the next morning, he found that she had left food behind.

For the first time since the whole adventure started, Daemonak realized how hungry he was.  He rolled over towards the fire to investigate, where he found a large pot of stew-- Chompii stew, he decided, sniffing at it.  Veralyn had also left a kettle of tea; both vessels were near enough the fire to be still warm.  Daemonak was about to get up and look for dishes when he heard a murmur from Grok.

"What's cooking?"

Daemonak's eyes widened, and he turned over again quickly to find Grok gazing up at him, bleary-eyed but clearly awake.  Daemonak swallowed hard.

"Uh. . . Chompii stew."

"Oh."  Grok closed his eyes a moment as if gathering his wits together, then he opened them again.  "You didn't cook Pett, did you?"

Daemonak snorted with laughter that came from relief more than the thought of serving up Pett.  "Ah, no.  Just ordinary Chompii."  _I assume_.

"Smells good.  I'm starving."

"I will fix a meal for you," Daemonak promised.  He reached out a shaky wing and drew it across Grok's head, feeling for the heat of infection.  "How do you feel?  Besides the hunger."

"My head still hurts.  But. . . I feel all right."  Grok looked down, lost in thought.  "I hit it, didn't I?  When we fell through the ice."

"Yes."  Daemonak was relieved that Grok hadn't lost his memory, although that brought another thought: _Does he remember what he said to me?_   Instead of asking, Daemonak went on, "You cut your head badly, but it has been treated.  You will recover."

"I thought I'd never wake up," Grok muttered; Daemonak wasn't sure if he meant before he lost consciousness, or if Grok were somehow aware even as he slept.  The Babo raised his eyes again to look around with the good one.  "Hey, where are we?"

"The Damo city," mumbled Daemonak.  "Our-- the Damos' healer tended to you."

Grok's eyes widened.  "The Damo city?  Did you bring me here?"  Without waiting for an answer, he went on, "But Daemonak, they could have killed you!  They. . . agreed to help?"

"Yes," Daemonak said again.  He wasn't up to telling Grok the whole story, not yet.  He merely explained, "I had to.  You would have died without care."  Again there was the pain behind his eyes.  Daemonak turned quickly away from Grok and rubbed at them with his wing.

"Daemo. . . ."  He heard Grok shift towards him, then he felt the Babo's mouth pressed to Daemonak's round, red back.  "Thanks for taking care of me."

Daemonak nodded a bit curtly to hide his emotion.  "Let me continue to do so by giving you some of this stew.  I will also try to ease your pain a little."

He finally located some dishes and cups, and between the two of them, Daemonak and Grok finished every bite of the stew.  Daemonak had always found Chompii to be a bit gamey, but he liked the taste, and at the moment, he was hungry enough to eat just about anything.  While Grok drank more tea, Daemonak put a fresh poultice on his head.

"That helps," Grok said between gulps of the hot liquid.  "Normally I'd like it to hurt, but-- hey, where's my wires?" he growled, interrupting himself.

"Right over there."  Daemonak smirked slightly.  "Veralyn-- the healer-- took them off so you would be more comfortable."

"Hmph," snorted Grok.  Still, he didn't seem to mind being able to snuggle back into the nest comfortably when he was finished with his meal.  "Veralyn, hunh?" he said after a minute, while Daemonak removed the cooling poultice and straightened up.  "You know her?"

"Yes, for all my life.  Her grandmother and my grandfather were siblings."

"Hmn.  Are you close?"

Daemonak finished with his work and turned back to the Babo, only to find Grok looking at him sharply with his good eye.  _He's **jealous**!_ Daemonak realized.  He had to hide a slight smile.

"Not very."  He climbed back into the nest and lay down again beside his leader.  Grok rolled a little to face him as Daemonak tucked the blankets around them both.  "She seemed rather curious about you. . . and me."

"Did she."  Lying on his side, Grok gazed at him steadily.

"Yes.  Especially. . . ."  Daemonak heard his own voice fall to a soft purr.  "Especially about how your older wounds seem to have been treated with Damo saliva."

"Heh."  Grok grinned suddenly.  "I'm sure she did a great job of fixing up my head. . . but I do think I like it better when _you_ take care of me."  He shifted still closer, and Daemonak automatically put his wings out to hold the Babo.  He gave Grok's stitches a tentative lick, tasting the bitter herbs from the poultice along with the familiar iron tang of Grok's blood above the indescribable taste of his skin.

Grok hissed softly with mixed pleasure and pain, and Daemonak withdrew his tongue.  He didn't want to impede Grok's healing by aggravating the wound, no matter how much Grok liked it.

"You tease," the Babo hissed, wriggling his round body against Daemonak's.

The Damo was overcome by a clash of feelings: desire for his lover, shaky relief that Grok would recover, worry about reaching the surface without interference from the other Damos. . . .  His eyes watered up again, but this time, the tears overflowed and ran down his face to soak into the blanket beneath them.

"Daemo?" Grok squawked in alarm.  "What's wrong?"  He nudged Daemonak worriedly.  "Uh, it never bothered you before when I called you a tease. . . ."

"It is not that," Daemonak managed to get out.  He shifted his face downward in an attempt to hide his tears, but Grok nuzzled him until Daemonak was weeping against his leader's cheek.  "I thought. . . I would lose you."

"You didn't, though," murmured Grok, "because you were loyal to me."  He began to lick the tears from Daemonak's face.  "You saved my life, Daemo."

"I will always be loyal to you," Daemonak whispered back, folding his wings close about the Babo.  "Not for the Militia's sake. . . for yours."

"I know."  Grok shifted and kissed Daemonak's mouth, then he muttered fiercely, "And I'll always be loyal to you too.  Daemo--"

He broke off at the sound of the room's stone door sliding open.  Daemonak looked up to see Veralyn flapping in.

"How is he?" she asked as she approached.

"He is awake."  Daemonak nudged Grok, who made a face and rolled his eyes before he shifted to face her.

"Oh!  How are you feeling?"  She landed beside their nest and leaned forward to examine Grok's wound.

"Fine," he growled.  "When can I leave?"

"We are anxious to return to our crew," Daemonak added quickly.  "Thank you for your care, though-- and for the stew."

"Hmn," Veralyn chuckled.  "Let me take another look."  After she had checked Grok over, she sat back and nodded.  "Ideally, you should remain here longer to recover, but. . . in these circumstances, it is probably safer for you to leave."  She gestured towards one corner with a wing; Daemonak now saw that Grok's coat and chains lay there from her earlier visit.  "I cleaned your clothing while you slept-- and sterilized those wires of yours."

"Hmph," said Grok.

"What would be the quickest path to the surface?" Daemonak asked Veralyn.  "The main path is so long."  He glanced at Grok and explained, "That is the way we came in after the Terracora."

"I would guess you should go back the way you came yesterday," replied Veralyn.  "Since you cannot lift Grok alone, I will ask Aglaeca and Lorccan to accompany you.  It would be best for you to go now, while it is still early.  Can you be ready in a few moments?"

"Sure, now get outta here," Grok snapped.  Daemonak cringed, but Veralyn just smirked and left to find the guards.

"You could be nicer to her," Daemonak grumbled as he got out of the nest and gathered up Grok's clothing.  "She did a lot for you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."  Grok began wrapping himself back up in his wire.  "Bet it was for your sake though, not mine."

"Yes, well," sniffed Daemonak.  "She does seem to believe that you and I are. . . mates."

Grok sat still for the Damo to put the coat on him.  "Well, aren't we?"

Taken aback, Daemonak stammered, "Ah, I. . . did not know it was official."  When Grok turned to look back at him, raising one eyebrow, Daemonak smiled faintly.  "Are you asking?"

"Don't be so coy," Grok growled with a little grin of his own.  "I told you I loved you, didn't I?  Do you need a formal proposal too?"

"You meant it?" whispered Daemonak.  "I thought perhaps you were. . . delirious or something."

"No more than usual."  Grok rolled closer and gave Daemonak's cheek a nuzzle.  "I do love you, Daemo, I promise."

Daemonak lifted his wings and encircled Grok as he returned the nuzzle.  It was hard for him to speak, especially to say _that_ , but he managed, "I love you, too.  And I. . . I want to be your mate."  He caught Grok's mouth for a long, deep kiss.  Grok moaned faintly and kissed him back before reluctantly pulling away.

"I don't want that nosy nurse rolling in on us again," he grumbled as he finished fastening his coat.  "I'll be glad to get out of here."  
  
"Oh yes, and then you will have Aescu to treat you," returned Daemonak sardonically.  "Not nosy at all."

"Heh.  You've gotta point."


	6. Chapter 6

Veralyn soon returned with both guards ready to lead Grok and Daemonak back to the surface.  Daemonak thanked her again for her help and bowed deeply to her.  Grok hemmed and hawed, then finally gave his version of a bow as well, rolling forward and holding the pose for a moment.

As they followed Aglaeca and Lorccan through the Damo city, Daemonak noticed that very few other Damos were about.  _It must be earlier than I thought,_ he realized.  He was grateful, though, to have his exit unobserved.  He had a feeling that the violent third guardian would not be inclined to let them go peaceably.

"We thought this old tunnel was completely cut off from the surface," Lorccan commented as the four passed the city gates and rolled into the small tunnel.

"It was," Daemonak muttered.  "We were in one of the abandoned mines far above when the floor gave way.  We landed in the cavern at the other end of this tunnel."

"What were you doing in the mines, anyhow?"

Daemonak hesitated, not sure that the truth was the best option.  Grok decided for him though when he growled, "We were looking for the last of the Terracite."  Aglaeca hissed at this and half turned to glare darkly at Grok.  Grok bared his teeth in response, and Daemonak sighed.

"You really _are_ a traitor," Aglaeca challenged Daemonak.

"It was _my_ idea!" Grok snapped before Daemonak could reply.  "I made Daemo come with me!"

Aglaeca's aggressive expression shifted to one of surprise.  ". . . 'Daemo'?"

Lorccan fluttered up to Aglaeca's side and murmured, "Leave them alone.  They have suffered enough together."  Aglaeca cast Grok one more suspicious look, but he remained quiet.  At one point he even reached out a wing to brush Lorccan's side tenderly.

Daemonak winced when they reached the cavern, still littered with rocks and the never-melting ice.  He didn't like to think about what had happened there.

"Among the three of us, we should be able to lift the flatlander up to the mine shaft," Aglaeca said brusquely.  "We can each bite a piece of his coat."

"Watch for the barbed wire," Daemonak advised before he carefully clamped his teeth on the top of Grok's garment.  Grok squeezed both eyes shut as the other two Damos took hold, then they launched into the air carrying the Babo among them.  The three Damos wobbled a bit in trying to coordinate their flight, but then they easily ascended to the floor of the mine above, where they set Grok down in the tunnel.

"Thank you," Daemonak told the two guards, bowing to them as he had to Veralyn.  Grok rolled forward as well, although he aimed his bow more at Lorccan than at Aglaeca.  The guards both bowed in return, but Aglaeca didn't keep his mouth shut long.

"Make sure you do not come back!" he warned.  "The guardians will not be so lenient next time."

"Oh, don't worry," grumbled Grok.  "I don't want to see this place again for a long time."

"Take care, Daemonak," Lorccan said, despite his partner's warning.  They turned and fluttered downward through the opening in the floor.  A moment later they had disappeared into the tunnel leading back to the city.

It was then that Daemonak remembered the Terracite.  It now lay out of Grok's reach, on the other side of the great hole in the floor.  Still, Daemonak knew that he himself could easily fly across to fetch it.  He cringed as he imagined taking the poisonous crystals in his mouth to bring them back to Grok-- yet Daemonak knew he would do it if that were what Grok wished.

Grok was looking too, but then he turned away and started back down the tunnel, towards the surface.  "C'mon, Daemo, let's get out of here."

"But. . . what about the Terracite?"  Daemonak slowly rolled after him, and Grok stopped, turning to face him.  "Do you not want it?"

"I. . . do," Grok admitted although he did not look back at the crystals again.  "But. . . those crystals had made me weak-- and I didn't even know it.  You could have been killed because of me, Daemo. . . and you deserve better than that.  Anyway, you'd have to be the one to get them for me, and I won't do that to you.  Not now."

Daemonak could think of nothing worthy to say, so he only nodded.  Then he reached out a wing and laid it across Grok's back, turning his lover back to the path leading to the surface.  Grok leaned up and gave him a playful nip on the wing.

When Daemonak and Grok finally emerged from the tunnel into the glare of Velouria's surface light, they found Magmor and Pett stationed where the three shafts leading into the mine met.  The large Moltok was snoring faintly, his glowing eyes closed.  Surprisingly enough, Pett was huddled close to Magmor's side, and the Moltok had spread his stony scales so that more of his warm inner core was exposed to the Chompii's skin.

 _Magmor is keeping him warm,_ Daemonak marveled.  _Who knew he had any tenderness in him?_

"Sleeping on the job?" Grok growled, even as he grinned slightly.  Magmor jumped, snorting and rumbling as his saffron eyes flew open.  Pett squeaked in his sleep and tried to snuggle closer to the Moltok, but Magmor pushed him away roughly.  The little Chompii squawked and righted himself, but then he squealed when he noticed Grok and Daemonak.

"Boss!  Daemonak!  You're back! Back back back--"

"Pett be quiet!" growled Magmor.  He rolled up to Grok and nodded deferentially.  "Everything okay?"  His eyes narrowed when he saw the sutures on Grok's head.  "Someone hurt Grok!  Magmor smash!"

Grok just chuckled.  "I fell and cut my head, Magmor.  Where are the others?"

"Back at the ship," Pett piped up.  "Aescu and Horn Head went back the ship and told me to stay here.  But then Magmor stayed with me and kept me warm and--"

"Magmor bored to death with Chompii noise," growled the Moltok.  "Take Grok back to ship now."  He turned to glower at the Chompii.  "Pett could stay here in cave-- leave on Velouria!"

Pett snapped several mouths at him.  "You're a big meanie!"

Grok sighed, rather tiredly Daemonak thought.  "Let's just get back to the ship."

\--

They found Aescu and Horn Head on the ship as Pett had described: Horn Head was raiding the galley while Aescu amused herself with the ship computer.  Grok ordered them to launch for Babolon immediately.

Once the ship was in the air, Grok briefly related the story of what had happened to him and Daemonak, leaving the Damo to cover what took place while Grok was unconscious.  Neither mentioned their romance, of course, but Aescu watched them with a little smile that made Daemonak suspicious.

"What about Terracite?" Magmor boomed when they had finished their tale.  "Grok and Daemonak find any?"

"Yeah, find any?" echoed Horn Head, greedily as usually.  "We didn't find any at all, none of us."

Daemonak kept silent, wondering how Grok would answer.  Their leader hesitated a moment before answering, "No.  And this will end our hunt for it.  After wasting our time and injuring myself on this hunt, I've decided that the Militia's interests will be better served by exploring new avenues."  Then to everyone's surprise, he looked at Daemonak.  "Do you agree, Daemonak?"

He had never singled the Damo out before as his confidant, and Daemonak flushed a little with pride as he answered, "Completely.  And we all will follow you on those new avenues. . . sir.  Will we not?" he addressed the others.

"Sure sure sure!" Pett chimed.  Magmor and Aescu nodded as well.  Horn Head hesitated, probably thinking of Orb, his faraway homeworld.  But then he sighed and agreed as well.

"Might as well."  He rattled his nose chain.  "You treat me better than ol' Wolf Breath did back home."

The Militia members dispersed back to the either the galley for breakfast or the barracks to catch up on sleep, although Aescu chose to stay on the bridge and pilot the ship.  Grok and Daemonak were the last left out of the males, and her mechanical purr stopped them before they could go to the barracks.

"So Grok, you said the Damos' healer was a woman too?  I didn't know there _were_ female Damos."

"Of course there are!" Daemonak spat before Grok could reply.  "How else do you think we would reproduce?"  
  
Aescu's organic eye looked him up and down.  "With _you_ as my model, I would never have guessed it involved females."

Daemonak glared at her.  "I happen not to want any nestlings.  But to answer your question, yes, Veralyn is a woman, and a very beautiful one by Damo standards."  Grok appeared to sulk a bit at that statement.

The cyborg's golden organic eye gleamed.  "Why didn't you bring her back for a visit?  She sounds fascinating."

"I've had quite enough of her, thanks," grumbled Grok.  "You'll have to keep doing the healing for the Militia on your own."

"I suppose.  But I'll leave _your_ healing to Daemonak there.  I'm sure he enjoys licking your wounds more than I ever would."  She chuckled with a buzz of feedback, then she turned back to the ship's controls.

Seeing Daemonak still glowering, Grok chuckled and whispered, "Don't look so offended. . . .  You know it's true."  He telekinetically tugged Daemonak into the hall, then gave him a fierce kiss.  "Mmm. . . and I'd rather have you treat me than some female, any day."

Daemonak returned the kiss and slipped his wings around Grok for a moment.  "I love you, Grok," he murmured against his mate's mouth.

"Love you too, Daemo."  Grok closed his eyes to savor the kiss.  They went on to the barracks where Pett was already asleep again, his small appendages twitching as he dreamed.  Grok gave Daemonak a final nuzzle, then they climbed into separate nests, too small to hold more than one Babo at a time.  Daemonak folded his wings comfortably about himself and closed his eyes.  No longer homesick for Velouria, he dreamed about the life that awaited him when they reached Babolon.

\--

The End


End file.
